Until You Forget

Monday, April 02, 2012

Newly Published Works

In honor of National Poetry Month, here is a set of poems published from 2010-2011 (prior to April 2011), with the names of the publications they appeared in; I had a pretty succesful last couple years, so I may have missed one or more; note that I also haven’t included all the publications in WTF?!; I’m going to submit them as a separate posting at some point.Blinking Cursor:

Peace

To this day
I still don’t know
What made you
Close off from me

I know
You’d like to think
I started it
But I was far too young
For that, to do much more
Than follow your lead

Maybe it was fear
Of the possibility
Of all the pain that comes
From being so vulnerable

But I
Have benefitted from that,
As we are all
Blessed by stress
In disguise

Whenever the choice
Comes to me
To expand or contract, to
Surrender or defend
Love or leave
I can’t help but
Think twice

So
Even in absence
Your presence
Has served me

And
If I could give you
One thing this Christmas
It would be
Peace
For us both

Blood and Thunder:

A Dedication to the Parts

It’s nice that in this world
There are caretakers and
People who need care.
It works out perfectly.
I would have to say
I’ve more frequently been
Of the second category.
And yet it all works
Exactly as it should: I’m doing something
I’m driven towards, something
That requires time, commitment
And risk. But
I would not be able to both
Dive off wildly into other realms
And fully take care of myself-
At least, I haven’t worked it so far.
Don’t get me wrong, I can subsist
On my own
But I doubt if I could ever flower.
I’m full of holes
And maybe that’s why
The weird light shines inside
At all
But isn’t it incredible
How you meet these other beings
And they are like the parts
Missing in you. And when
You come together
You achieve something greater
Than either could have alone,
Even working separately
On the same thing.
So the person with no real interest
In making art
Braces the canvas
And the one just barely
Balancing his insanity
Temporarily
Sings the songs
Alive inside us all

Clockwise Cat:

On the two lane highway we change our minds...

and pull off at an intersection, sign reads "Don't Think" down to the liquor store, brand name lights flash Marlboros Doritos closely tailed by sizzling antacid chasers targeting those hypnotic white pills adrift in slow billowing clouds across the billboards- "What Bullshit" I see an impulse flash in the next aisle over so we weave the cybernetic hysteria of unending compulsive lane and channel changes, flashing past contrived TV scenes and the electromagnetic fear broadcast via satellite, the agonized telephones going completely AT+T wireless while still tethered to the world’s ulterior strings, and somewhere a long way down one thread I see the hate of hatred slyly tightening the noose of prejudice- and then a silent lane, no sign, no reason, no reason to go there as a matter of fact but for the obvious evidence that it's empty, slide down our mood's anvil and ride around melting forward like slick polished butter obsidian pooling under the infant reflections of unmasked stars, slide through the greased dark with twin headlight eyes floating down the blacktop river in solitary wavelength luminiscence, no shark signs to see but still things so we give them new names, begin to improvise constellations over the whole outmoded sky as a matter of fact, not stopping even at the horizon where we’re finding old Orion’s sword driving into wild antenna aresenals, conductive mothers nursing a whole universe through receptive grey dishes, cold fish in all the spermy words squirming about us, all of it food for some gigantic belly whale we are only one star inside of- still onwards we fly feeling each porous vein of the road, each pockmark rocking every subtle bounce, each wind detail each time we thought about not thinking then feeling again kissing motion itself with unseen lips but still real, lips speaking not only signs but signals that don't always flash but keep spilling over into the streets constantly like shattering, sparkling glass-

Danse Macabre:

A Wake on the Other Side

“Dearly departed, we are gathered here
Today to celebrate the morning
Of the end of living, which is not
As so many believed
The end of everything
But more akin to the reflected scene
Upon a pool of water, dependent
On the actions and memories of the living
And slowly dissolving
Into only eyes following,
Into watching.
Rest in Pace.”

Exercise Bowler:

Intimate Shell

People walk through
My way of watching them,
Making waves in my mood
While crossing the street
They step inside
Or bridge away

In smoking they breathe
Out my exhales
And give me resilience
Just leaning against a tree

Their conversations become music
When I’m not listening for specifics-
Fast or slow drumbeats-
A synchronicity of inner world
Connections where I am

Like we’re all inside
The same egg crate and yet
I have this intimate, expansive
Shell that keeps breaking
Me into them

Four and Twenty:

A Pretty Poor Knife

Sure, I had
Some valid points
But at the end of the night
Being partially right
Is a pretty poor knife
To break bread with

A Residue of Unengaged Experience

Do everything you do
With everything you have
Always push forward
When insecurity makes you pull back-
For fear can only exist
Where there is a residue
Of unengaged experience

Hobo Pancakes:

First Poem of My Rebellion

I’m in a state of rebellion.
The practiced faces of the street challenge me
With their static, statuesque eyes,
Scraping shallow sentences between stiff lips,
Leaving behind largely an indention
Of stoic memorial posturings.
They challenge me
Because they do not encourage
The difference I feel.

My rebellion extends
To unyielding lanes on the freeway,
The unflinching moods
In elevators,
And the courteous smiles
Of those who despise me.

I’m tired of all the buying
I was unaware of selling-
But I’m aware now,
And that is my rebellion.

Forgive me
For I have inherited a terrible crime
And passed it on to you-
Forgive me
For I knew not what we did
While serving myself up, a vessel
For all the blood running through-
But I die for your sins, too,
Every time I am compromised for no reason
But hate of fear or worse still dispassion,
Die for your sins every moment
Compounded by every interest in our shared possession,
Die just like you die for mine.
And thus, the ridiculousness of competition.
Because I cannot be the only one who feels
The need for such rebellion.
I can’t be the only one who feels it
Riding around inside the wind, crying out
From the oppressive air my eyes find
As they trace the confines of courthouses
Jailhouses
Madhouses
With some unformed desire to redefine.

But changing the aesthetic makes little difference.
For we are not fighting people
Ideas
Or ideals
Beyond ourselves.
It is a rebellion of the individual
Against that part of itself
Which is not truly original.
Against that part we willingly or
Unwittingly accept and encourage
Every moment we let endure.

We have been complacent for far too long.
FUCK IT!
Scream something new from the rooftops
Or at least begin whispering it
From altitudes of yourself-
It’s ridiculous to obey an outdated code
Which has not altered
Despite all the changes around it-
And it is not only ridiculous,
It is a crime
Not to tread the path of transformation
When we have the arms, the pain,
The heart and the COUNTRY to do so.

Rise up, America!
We were born out of not following orders
But have forgotten beneath the weight of our own-
We have forgotten to question what we obey
Or why
And in this sense are no better
Than the worst Nazi fires
Lit with the consenting weight of empires
Of endless small talk or the hush
Of the religions of literature
Which have preceded us-
It’s simple and yet
The process of lifetimes
Is only to begin it-
Always beginning,
From here and a thousand years
In every direction.

Yes, I am in a state of rebellion.
Against that part of myself I have not chosen.
And, because of this, so are you.
Because the first premise
Of this rebellion
Is the beginning of non-resistance
Of intimacy with the fact that
Neither of us can know
A separate truth.

Peace

About Me

I am a creative writer and musician residing primarily in Sacramento, CA. In addition to my book "Fourteen Months" and my poetry e-book I have several books of poetry and 2 albums for sale cheap! I am also in the beginning phases of making framed "Poegraphs" such as the ones you see on this blog. Please contact me at maxwestarts@gmail.com if you're interested. Thanks for stopping by.